Thirteen
by Gavin Gunhold
Summary: Lianne Jon and Thayet's daughter, Lianne takes a late night trip up a tower to extort some information.


Um.. I don't own it, and assume that doors are easy to open - I did.

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Lianne liked to know what was going on in her castle.

When Neal edged guiltily past the guard, up the stairs into the tower and didn't come down for at least an hour,Lianne wanted to know what had happened. The easiest way would be to confront Neal with her knowledge and then blackmail him for the rest, but it was now a matter of pride. Neal had been up the tower, she hadn't, and there wasn't any way some dumb boy was going to know things she didn't. Emerging from her hiding spot behind the wall – it was a little known passage she'd learned about by spying on the provost's men – she slipped up the stairs. The guard was terrible at his job. She'd tell Roald in the morning so he could get a new one when he became King.

The door, she saw when she reached it, had a magic-sealed lock. A challenge. She got out her lock-pick from Uncle George and tried without much hope to open the lock the "conventional" way. The pick began to heat and Lianne whipped it out before it lost its shape or stuck. Drat. She kicked the door and demanded, "Open up!" Which worked. Surprisingly enough. She blinked, shocked, and then scowled. Shoddy security seemed to be a theme tonight.

She pushed open the heavy door and found herself standing across the room from an elegant lady, about as old as her mother. Faced at last with the visual proof of the woman she knew to be kept in this tower, Lianne began to feel apprehensive. She stared, noting the contrast of pale skin against the dark hair and dressing gown. Wide green eyes countered with an inspection of their own. The lady's initial shock at the intrusion was fading quickly into amusement, which was irritating at best. Lianne drew herself up to her full height.

"You're Delia of Eldorne," she pointed out.

The lady acknowledged this fact with a nod. "And you are Princess Lianne, I presume."

Lianne's eyes narrowed. "How did you know that?" She was not used to being identified by people who hadn't met her. Only Kally and Roald couldn't go out without being recognized.

"Only a command from a royal brat could have had such an effect on my door and you're too young to be Kalasin." Delia was starting to look bored. "Are you going to close it? You're letting in a draft."

"I am not a brat!" Lianne nearly stomped her foot, annoyed at being considered too young, but turned around to close the door anyhow. She wondered if the door locked automatically and whether or not she was now shut in. How long would it take her parents to find her?

"Oh really?" Delia mused. "Have I been shut away for so long that it is it now considered good manners to enter a lady's rooms without knocking first? Besides which," she continued, cutting off Lianne's heated retort - Delia's title was taken away when she Betrayed the Country. "You look just like your mother."

"I do?" Lianne asked. "No I don't. She's the most beautiful woman in Tortall and besides, Kally looks more like her than me. Everyone says so." She looked critically at Delia's smooth complexion and fine features. "You're much prettier than I expected."

"Indeed," Delia said, but Lianne missed the complexity of expression in the word as she took that opportunity to peer around the dim, candlelit room. It seemed very stylish for a prison. "And what were you expecting?" Delia went on, bitterly bemused. "A decrepit old hag I suppose, wasting away and succumbing to insanity in a rat-infested pit of despair."

"No-o," Lianne thought aloud, her eyebrows furrowing. A pit of rats in a tower? She hoped she deserved a little more credit than _that_. "Just not this," she gestured at the plush surroundings. "Or you," she said, looking Delia in the eye. "I expected you to look more… well, less pretty, maybe - but evil. But it doesn't show up on your face at all."

The corners of Delia's mouth turned up suddenly and sincerely in surprise, and Lianne was shocked to find that Delia was in fact beautiful. She had to forcefully remind herself that the woman was a traitor and bad and couldn't be trusted no matter how nice she seemed; no matter how much attention she was paying Lianne. It struck her that Delia was probably longing for some decent company and she thought back to the reason why she'd come in the first place. She began thinking about how best to extort the information she wanted when Delia spoke again.

"You're rather direct, aren't you?" she seemed to be taking Lianne seriously at last. It was about time. "Yes, I suppose I am kept rather well in my gilded cage, but you never know when you'll be entertaining royalty," she directed a pointed look and Lianne thought, point taken. "And I'll be sure to tell my lackey that the hours put in bartering for my anti-evil ointment are well spent."

Lianne wondered about the possibilities of anti-evil ointment, but didn't want to appear unknowledgeable. She'd ask Sir Myles, maybe, when she saw him. He knew _everything_. Or Uncle George. He knew everything _evil_. For now, she ignored it, straightened her face and said as lightly as possible, "You don't have lackeys – you have servants. Unless you meant Nealan, and he's _my_ lackey." Certainly more hers than Delia's.

She looked closely for a reaction, but Delia still looked harmless. Ish. She was giving Lianne a considering look.

"And so finally we arrive at the motive for this late-night visit," the older woman smiled.

"Tell me, why did Neal sneak up to see you?" Lianne demanded. Delia's enjoyment of her superior knowledge was going to be infuriating, Lianne could tell.

"Was he sneaking? How very obvious of him. He is losing my respect for it, never fear." Faced with Lianne's patient stare, Delia continued, her eyes glinting. "You wouldn't, by any chance, be trying to start up some trouble, would you?" Delia looked like she would enjoy being the cause of said trouble. A sinking feeling began to weaken Lianne's resolve.

"You aren't going to tell on him, are you?" Lianne asked, guessing the answer but wanting to make sure: "Will you do the same for me, then?" Nealan would probably be crucified if anyone found out, but Lianne wouldn't get off easily either. While she could bring Neal down with her, Lianne wasn't willing to give up her freedom of movement over this.

"Will you trust my answer?" Delia retorted, eyebrow raised, almost as if in hope. But when Lianne didn't reply, her face shuttered a little and she grinned cruelly. "Then don't ask for it." And Lianne thought that she _could_ trust her, at least in this.

"Well," the princess spoke stiffly. "I hope you enjoy the pleasure of his company."

The amusement was still there. "Am I not to have yours?"

Lianne gave her a measuring look. "No," she said finally. "I don't think so."

Delia smile thinned and didn't reach her eyes. "I am sorry, then. It seems I am destined to lose my most refreshingly intelligent visitors to more interesting events." She turned away towards a side room, tossing a careless "Goodnight, Highness," smoothly over her shoulder.

Although slightly flattered by the praise, Lianne was also beginning to find Delia somewhat overdramatic. She called a 'goodbye and goodnight' and let herself out, remembering to check the door (which thankfully opened from the inside when she told it to and then locked automatically when she closed it).

The guard at the bottom of the stairs was asleep and therefore missed seeing Lianne artfully not-sneaking past him.

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Titled on the "Pick a number at random. Say, uh... thirteen!" method.

Thank you Lyre.. I think. This is for you:

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later...

_"Sir Myles, does anti-evil ointment work?"_

_"Pardon?"_

_"Anti-evil ointment. You have heard of it?"_

_"Oh... Anti-evil ointment. Of course. Yes, it works quite well. We never suspected Duke Roger even after he got resurrected and tried to kill everyone again..."_

_"You're making fun of me. I'm going to go talk toUncle George."_

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End file.
